


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by Savageandwise



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1963 christmas show, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Work of fiction, not my take on reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: 'I'll be home for ChristmasYou can plan on mePlease have snow and mistletoeAnd presents on the treeChristmas Eve will find meWhere the love light gleamsI'll be home for ChristmasIf only in my dreams.'John and Paul backstage at the Christmas show, 1963.





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post something for Christmas! And I just barely made it...  
> I'm horribly out of practice. This is a huge mess. But here it is anyway. Happy Christmas everyone! Lots of love.

Naturally, George was the one who complained about it. He complained so bitterly, Paul hoped Brian would give in and cancel but there was nothing to be done. It was all arranged, they were to play the Christmas show was in the evening and they'd be flown to Liverpool to their families afterwards, just in time for Christmas day. Then they had to repeat the whole frivolous procedure until the eleventh of January.

It was Julian's first Christmas and Cynthia wanted everything to be perfect. It wasn't as though the kid was sentient enough to know it was Christmas, and what that even meant other than drunk adults pinching your cheeks and giving you pressies you wouldn't be able to appreciate yet. The boy was eight months old, he could barely sit up straight. She'd kept John on such a tight leash these past few days Paul hadn't managed to exchange more than a handful of words with him. Not that he'd know what to say if they could find the time.

Paul couldn't seem to shake his gloomy mood. He usually loved Christmas. He had so been looking forward to seeing his family and he had lovely gifts for everyone this year, extravagant gifts. They were more successful every day and things didn't seem to be slowing down. Things was moving faster and faster. And right in this crucial moment when everything seemed to be hanging in the balance something has happened that could spoil it all. 

On Christmas eve, Paul arrived backstage at the Astoria Cinema. John was helping George to straighten the heavy skirt and petticoat he was wearing. George was playing the damsel. And fuck, if he wasn't the ugliest damsel Paul had ever set eyes on with his kerchief and crooked smile. Paul was playing Valiant Paul McCartney, the hero of the piece. John was the villain, complete with a curling moustache, evil cackle and swirling black cape. Paul supposed they all had it better than Ringo, who was stuck playing 'special effects'. Better a black cape or a kerchief then to prance about the stage pretending to be snow.

“And another thing, why am I the girl?” George was saying. “Why isn't Paul the girl? He's the pretty one.”

Paul studiously ignored him, picked up the top hat John was supposed to wear and tried it on. When George looked his way he flashed him two fingers.

"Fuck you," George mouthed at Paul, his nose wrinkling as he held back a laugh.

“Brian insisted you be the bird.” John shrugged. He gave George's skirt a sharp pull and then swatted him on the bottom. “There you go. Try not to trip and fall on your face.”

George glared. “Next time, you're wearing the bleeding dress.” He exited the room leaving Paul alone with John.

Paul had been trying to avoid his friend for days. Putting off what he decided would be a most awkward conversation. There was no way to do that now. Not when John was advancing towards him with an enigmatic expression on his face. John's sense of timing was appalling for a man blessed with razor sharp wit. They were supposed to be on stage in a matter of minutes. 

John was already dressed in his black cape, the curled villain’s moustache securely in place. He looked so ridiculous, Paul felt his heart twinge. He almost smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up involuntary.

John looked up and stuck out his tongue. “I saw you there, Paulette. You nearly smiled. You'll want to watch that. Wouldn't do for people to think you're happy.”

“Why wouldn't I be?” Paul said sullenly. "It's Christmas eve after all."

"Exactly. You've been sulking for days, ever since..."

Days ago in the middle of a songwriting session, their heads together over a mess of lyrics, John had leaned against him, grasped Paul’s chin in his hand. There really hadn't been anything else to do at that point but wait for the pressure of John's lips on his. What had happened next exceeded his wildest dreams. That's what had happened. That was the mess they'd gotten into. How could John be so cool about it? As though he kissed his mates every day.

“Well if you must know," Paul said, trying to steer the conversation away from that magical night. " I don't know why you're so cheery. This whole Christmas show thing is absolutely ridiculous.”

“You're the one who said it would be fun,” John pointed out.

“I said I supposed we'd have to do it. I never said fun," Paul insisted.

“Cheer up, sweetheart. You get to be the hero,” John said. He slipped his hand into Paul's trouser pocket cool as a cucumber. He didn't even blink. Paul was unsure if he wanted to bolt out the door or come in his trousers.

“What're you playing at?” Paul sputtered. 

“Just curious where you're hiding it.”

“It? What it? Hiding what?” Paul's face was burning. He pulled John's hand out of his pocket holding fast to his wrist. 

“The Christmas spirit. You seem to have misplaced it, Macca.”

“Oh that. I have Christmas spirit," Paul grumbled.

“Oh do you, Mr. Scrooge?” John asked, he put his hands on Paul's hips and pulled him close abruptly.

“Yes. Loads. Masses. I'm overflowing with Christmas spirit.” He took a half step back. If John put his hand any closer to Paul's crotch, he'd feel his reaction to his touch. They might might miss the silly Christmas pantomime. What a shame that would be... 

“Overflowing, eh? Well try to contain yourself. Last time you ruined me best trousers,” John leered, then catching Paul's wary expression he fell silent.

“Oh shut up about that,” Paul said, flushing scarlet. “Where's your hat? Can't be a decent villain without a hat.”

He picked up the black top hat from the messy dressing room table and dusted off the brim absently. “There you go. No, wait there's something missing.” Paul slid a sprig of mistletoe into the hatband. Then he set the hat on the chair behind him. “Bound to be chock full of pretty girls tonight, waiting for a Christmas kiss.” 

“You know, I'm almost disappointed we're going home tonight,” John admitted. He slid his thumb over Paul's hip bone absently. There was a question in his touch. One that Paul didn't have the time to answer, as they were due on stage. He could hear the bell calling the audience to their seats.

“There will still be pretty girls when we get back after Crimbo,” Paul assured him, keeping his voice light. 

John shrugged. His face went still beneath the powder and fake facial hair. He shut his eyes for a moment, put his hand flat on Paul's back. All at once his stomach dipped low and a terrible, wonderful ache filled him.

“That's not what I'm talking about,” John whispered.

“Aren't you excited to be going home with your wife and kid?” Paul said pointedly.

John's eyes flew open. “Christ, that's what this is all about? Is that why you're being so narky? Guilt? You know that's not…”

“Not what?” Paul said hurriedly.

“Nevermind Cynthia for a minute. Nevermind the perfect Miss Asher. I haven't been able to stop thinking about...about...it. But...I thought…I thought you were embarrassed.”

Embarrassed? How could he be? When those scant stolen moments meant the world to him? When he'd thought John was embarrassed about it. Especially after those rumours about Brian and the Spanish trip.

“I wasn't embarrassed. I was surprised. And after what happened with Bob Wooler…”

“Yeah...that...well…” John said slowly.

“Yes that. I thought you weren't…you said you weren't…” He'd said he wasn't queer, that's what he'd said. He'd kissed Paul anyway. They'd done far more than kiss.

“...Queer. I said...but…” John shrugged, his smile was sheepish. “I didn't plan for it to happen. I want it again. Don't you?”

“I'm not...I mean...I...Jane… I'm not... I like girls...” He finished weakly. He hadn't thought of Jane that night when he'd slid his hands under John's clothes, desperate to feel his skin. He wasn't thinking of her now. He was thinking of John's mouth on his.

“So do I! Does it matter?” John asked impatiently, straightening the collar of Paul's shirt.

Wordlessly, Paul shook his head. Because it didn't matter in the slightest. Because there was nothing more to be said. He put his cheek against John's as though they were dancing, the black villain's moustache tickled his skin. Paul reached behind him and grasped the brim of the top hat, placed it square upon John's head, the white berries on the mistletoe shook silently. The bell went off again. They simply didn't have time for this.

“Bad luck if you don't, you know,” Paul murmured anyway, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“We wouldn't want that,” John said. “I hear 1964 is going to be the luckiest of years.”

And then Paul leaned in, lifted the brim of the hat slightly and claimed John's mouth with his own. 

“Happy Christmas, Valiant Paul,” John said when they broke apart to catch their breath.

“Happy Christmas to you, Sir Jasper.”

And it was. It finally really was Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for how bad that was!


End file.
